


L-Day

by jamesbow



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Oxford Time Travel Universe - Connie Willis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-20 18:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18130604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesbow/pseuds/jamesbow
Summary: "In the cold light of the hangover morning, I realized there was no getting around this fact: the amount of planning we'd have to do in order to rescue the lost books of, say, the Library of Alexandria would take the planning usually reserved for operations like D-Day. I did not need to hear the phrase, 'Ned! We've got trouble!"





	L-Day

"Ned! We've got trouble!"  
  
"What?"  
  
Verity delivered this edict in classic deadpan that would put her up with the great deadpan-delivered lines of history. Through the ages, deadpan responses have helped mark and elevate world-changing events. Like "Houston, we've had a problem" or "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" or even, "I am just going outside and may be some time."  
  
I could feel the heat of the flames against my face. We'd already had plenty of trouble. I really didn't need to see Verity's face, beautiful though it was, telling me we had more.  
  
We'd been giddy after the consecration of New Coventry Cathedral. We'd partied as only Oxford historians could, celebrating our freedom from Lady Schrapnell, the extra funding for our department, and the fact that, contrary to decades of assumptions from time travelers before us, we could bring artifacts back from history, so long as they were already doomed to be reduced to their component parts. Like burned in fire.  
  
In the cold light of the hangover morning, as I woke up beside Verity, I looked up to see her deep in thought, somehow not hungover, and she told me how much planning we'd have to do in order to rescue the lost books of, say, the Library of Alexandria. There was no getting around this fact: we'd be running into a burning building. We'd be running past bands of angry people burning that building.  
  
But we were historians. This, more than the rebuilding of Coventry Cathedral, was what we did. I knew that when we asked for volunteers, we'd be swamped. At the same time, Verity was right. This would take the planning usually reserved for operations like D-Day.  
  
I slipped out of bed, pulled on my clothes, and made the breakfast coffee. Then Verity and I started to make plans.  
  
It required a lot of drops. Historians had to land weeks, months and even years before the fire, to surreptitiously map the library complex, without being detected by the locals. There were language lessons, and studies of clothing to ensure we blended in. There were visits to the site in the days and weeks after the fire, when the locals were a lot more suspicious and antsy, to see how the library had burnt. Then computer simulations helped us figure out where the fires were started, and how they burned. We mapped out where we had to be to have as much time as possible to rescue as many documents as possible. We carefully inventoried any documents that survived the fire, so that we didn't mistakenly bring back something that was destined to be left behind.  
  
Fortunately, I was right. We were swamped with volunteers, and we carefully planned out our method of attack before sending even the first reconnaissance historians down.  
  
Now, on D-Day, or should that be L-Day, we were here, grabbing what we could and madly sending everything through the Net. It was such a narrow window, though, I knew we were going to leave half of everything behind. I did not need to hear the phrase, "Ned! We've got trouble!"  
  
"What kind of trouble, Verity?"  
  
"Come and see." She took me by the hand. "He's hogging the manuscripts."  
  
"Who?" I demanded, then flinched at the sound of a wall falling in. The flames were getting awfully close.  
  
"Him." She pointed.  
  
"Ook!"  
  
"Uh, oh," I said.


End file.
